


Rules of Engagement

by Art3misiA



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Engagement, F/M, Humour, Lucius is as difficult as ever, Shakespeare, Supportive Narcissa Black Malfoy, dramione - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-27
Updated: 2021-02-27
Packaged: 2021-03-18 01:22:47
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,531
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29726187
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Art3misiA/pseuds/Art3misiA
Summary: Lucius justhadto be difficult about the idea of Draco and Hermione getting married.Will Draco and Hermione allow him to throw his weight around, or will they bring him to heel?
Relationships: Hermione Granger/Draco Malfoy, Lucius Malfoy/Narcissa Black Malfoy
Comments: 7
Kudos: 114
Collections: DFW's Deal or No Deal: Famous Shakespeare Lines





	Rules of Engagement

**Author's Note:**

> I chose the number 10, and my given line was, _“O, that our fathers would applause our love/To seal our happiness with their consents!” - The Two Gentlemen of Verona, Act I, Scene III._
> 
> This piece is not betaed, as I decided to jump in and participate at the eleventh hour. Please forgive any errors that I've missed. 

* * *

  
“No. Absolutely not. Don’t be preposterous, Draco.”

“But, father—”

“Malfoys do not say _but._ It is uncouth and undignified.”

“Very well. Be that as it may—”

“The answer is _no,_ Draco. I will not agree to such a foolish notion. I _forbid_ it. The subject is closed. Now, I have work to do. Kindly remove yourself from my presence.”

Draco glared at his father, but dared not argue further. At least, not yet. Lucius may have somehow avoided Azkaban - _again -_ following the conclusion of the second Wizarding War, but the reprieve had not made him any less cantankerous or quarrelsome. _One would think,_ Draco fumed to himself as he stormed towards his wing of the manor, _the bigoted old bastard would at least be grateful enough to her to give his permission, if not necessarily his blessing._

To everyone’s amazement, Hermione had been one of the few people to speak in favour of Lucius Malfoy during the Death Eater trials. Her testimony, along with that of the Sainted Potter, had been instrumental in the Malfoy Patriarch's sentence being reduced to house arrest, rather than another round of incarceration within the walls of the notorious wizarding prison. 

The old man didn’t know how lucky he was. Being sent to Azkaban after the fiasco in the Ministry in 1996 had very nearly killed him, and another sentence certainly would have finished him off.

Narcissa had been so grateful to Hermione and Potter for saving Lucius from imprisonment that she had made every effort to get to know and make amends to them both. Draco had been dragged along on these outings. The appointments never occurred at the Manor because Hermione refused to set foot in the place, the trauma of having been tortured there too great, and at first he hated going.

But gradually, and with much prompting (more accurately, incessant haranguing) from his mother, Draco began to engage with his former rivals when they would meet. To his immense surprise - and a great deal of chagrin - he discovered he actually _liked_ them both. Eventually, he began to enjoy the visits as much as his mother did. 

One he’d gotten past Potter’s hero complex, Draco discovered the former Gryffindor wasn’t actually a complete dullard. In fact, he had endured an astounding number of challenges and dangers, both before and after discovering he was a wizard. The fact that Potter was not only still alive, but also sane and not completely embittered by his experiences, forced Draco to gain a healthy dose of respect for ‘old scarhead’ (even if he wasn’t technically ‘old scarhead’ any more since defeating Voldemort). Added to that was the fact Potter was an excellent Quidditch player, and suddenly, he wasn’t so bad.

Now, Hermione… Hermione... once he was able to pull his head out of his arse over her blood status and his lasting impression of her as a know-it-all bookworm, he found himself enamoured by her. He was used to witches who fawned over him, or were vapid, or snooty, or cared only for making a good marriage with a wizard whose family had vaults full of Galleons. 

Hermione was none of those things. She didn’t give a jot for money or status, and she challenged him constantly. At first, she had been cool - almost icy - towards Draco, but that was to be expected given how appallingly he’d treated her in school. At first, she’d only responded to him to be polite, and so as not to offend Narcissa. At first, he’d thought she would never forgive him for his sins.

But she’d surprised him again by gradually thawing towards him. Draco put it down to his continued efforts to be sincere, and the robust discussions they would have over all manner of subjects. If one thing could be said about Hermione Granger, it was that she loved a good old-fashioned debate. She could defend her position passionately, presenting strong examples and countering his arguments with logic and reason. 

She had taken him down a peg or two on several occasions, challenging the views and attitudes he’d been raised to accept and believe, and although he was loath to admit it, he came to find it refreshing. Hermione didn’t pander to him or attempt to soften her rebuttals. It had grated on him at first, but later, replaying the exchanges in his mind, he had noticed other things about her that he hadn’t seen at the time. 

Like the way her hair cracked with magic when she she felt strongly about a subject; or the way her deep brown eyes sparkled when she spoke of a cause or person dear to her heart; the way her hands moved wildly as she emphasised a point; and the way high colour came to her cheekbones as she moved in for the kill and the win.

The first time he’d asked her out on a date, she had asked for time to think about her answer. Heart in his shoes, Draco had nodded, sure it was just a code word for ‘no’, but that for whatever reason, she hadn’t wanted to come right out and deny him.

He waited for nearly a week, barely able to sleep or concentrate for the anxiety of not knowing, before her owl arrived with a response. It was one word, scrawled messily on a scrap of parchment, but it made his spirits soar.

_Yes._

Fast forward to the present time, two years later, and she had said yes to him again, this time agreeing to be his bride. Again, his spirits had soared and he was certain he was the happiest man on earth.

Until, that was, he had the dreaded conversation with his petulant, antiquated father. He’d gone in to give the old man the news, and the preceding argument had resulted. True, Draco hadn’t actually _asked_ for permission, as was tradition among the older Pureblood families, but Hermione had convinced him that he didn’t need his father’s permission to make his own decisions.

“You’re not a child any more, Draco,” she’d said. “Parents expecting to be able to exert control over their adult child’s life choices is archaic and distasteful. What’s the worst he can do?”

“He can disinherit me,” Draco pointed out. She’d simply raised a critical eyebrow in response, and he hasted to add, “I know I have plenty of gold in my own vaults, but I would be stripped of the Malfoy name as well. It has a whole raft of implications, as I’ll essentially be Nameless. For men in the wizarding world, it presents a great deal of problems.”

“Let me deal with that if he makes a scene about it,” Hermione had reassured him.

Draco sighed as he arrived at his door. He supposed he’d best give her the news. He entered his bedroom and crossed to his dresser, then picked up the small ornate mirror he kept there. “Hermione?” he called.

A moment later, he saw movement in its depths and her face appeared. She tried to smile, but he could see the worry and tension etched on her expression. “How did it go?”

“About as poorly as could be expected. He forbade it,” Draco said.

“He _what?”_

“ _O, that our fathers would applause our love, To seal our happiness with their consents!”_ He waxed dramatically, placing the back of his hand against his forehead.

“Draco, this is no time for Shakespeare!” Hermione chastised. “And besides, my father would never dare to be so presumptuous to assume he had the right to give or withhold consent. Lucius _forbids_ it, does he? Well, I’ll forbid _him…”_

“Forbid him from doing what?” Draco said, when she didn’t complete her sentence. 

“Never you mind,” she said. “Have you told Narcissa yet?”

“No, she’s still in France,” Draco said. “She’ll be back tomorrow evening.”

“Very well. Invite her to join us for tea the following afternoon, and we’ll give her the news together,” Hermione instructed.

“How is that going to fix the problem of my father?” Draco asked, burrowing his brow.

“Don’t worry about that. Just make sure she’s able to join us,” Hermione said. With that, she blew him a kiss and ended the call, leaving Draco wondering what his fiancé was up to.  
  


* * *

Draco observed Hermione as she admired the many blooms and plants that grew in his mother’s immense conservatory. After a great deal of time, Hermione had been able to heal enough from the memories of Bellatrix’s abuse to return to the Manor - albeit only certain parts of the grand home. She particularly enjoyed the gardens and greenhouses, and the conservatory was one of the few places where she could truly relax.

For that reason, when Draco had proposed tea, Narcissa had immediately suggested that location for their appointment. She was already waiting when they rounded a corner and approached the space set aside for entertaining. 

“Hello, my Dragon! And Hermione, my dear, you are looking as lovely as ever.” Narcissa rose and moved to greet them both with a broad smile, kissing first Draco’s cheek and then Hermione’s. “Come, sit! How have you been?” 

As Draco and Hermione seated themselves, Narcissa rang a small bell to summon her personal house elf. “We are ready to be served now, Mippy,” she said when the small creature appeared.

“Yes, Mistress. Mippy will bring,” she squeaked. She disappeared with a pop and reappeared several moments later bearing a tray with the tea service, and a four-tiered cake stand filled with sandwiches and sweet treats.

Mippy set everything down on the table, bowed, and departed. After she was gone, Narcissa poured the tea and passed out the cups, then selected a miniature lemon tart from the stand.

“So, tell me,” she said after she had taken a dainty bite. “Is there any new gossip or other news of note?” Her eyes twinkled as she spoke - for all the personal changes she’d made, Narcissa was still a society witch and enjoyed gossip just as much as she ever had.

“Well, actually, there is some news,” Hermione said. She looked at Draco, smiled, and gave a small nod.

Draco cleared his throat. “Yes, that’s correct,” he continued from where she had left off. “I asked Hermione if she would do me the honour of becoming my wife, and she agreed.”

Obligingly, Hermione extended her left hand to display the delicate diamond ring resting on her finger.

Narcissa leapt up, uttering an uncharacteristic shriek of delight, and grabbed Hermione’s hand so she could examine the ring more closely, then embraced her in a bone-crushing hug. Next, she moved to Draco, smothering him with kisses.

“Mother, please,” Draco grumbled good-naturedly.

Narcissa released Draco from her grasp and turned back to Hermione, her expression a picture of excitement. “Oh, do please say you’ll let me help you plan the wedding!” she begged.

“Of course,” Hermione said. “I wouldn’t have it any other way.”

His mother squealed again and Draco winced, fearing for the well-being of his eardrums.

“There's just one small problem,” Hermione said quietly.

Narcissa stopped short, and returned to her seat, her face falling. “What problem? Tell me, and I’ll do my best to fix it!”

“It’s Lucius,” Hermione explained. “Draco went to share the news with him yesterday, and I’m afraid his reaction was...not congratulatory.”

“What did he do?” Narcissa said, her eyes narrowing. “I won’t let him ruin this for you… or for me! Tell me what happened.”

Draco, awestruck by the fact Hermione had effectively just _told on Lucius_ to Narcissa, explained the exchange he’d had with his father and what Lucius had said.

“He _forbids_ it?” Narcissa hissed. “He most certainly won’t! I’ll forbid _him!”_

Meanwhile, Draco tried to reconcile with the fact that his mother appeared to be turning into Hermione… or maybe Hermione was turning into his mother. Or maybe no one was turning into anyone and the two witches were just eerily similar. Either way, it was...disconcerting.

“Excuse me a moment,” said Narcissa, suddenly eerily calm. “I must go and discuss this matter with my husband.” She stood and exited the conservatory. 

Draco looked at Hermione for a moment, then rose from his chair and grabbed her hand. “She’s going to give him a bollocking and a half,” he said with a grin. “Come on - we have to see this.” He practically dragged her out of her seat, then led her through the house towards his father’s study. They stopped just down the corridor from the door, which was ajar.

_“Lucius Abraxas Malfoy! Did you forbid our son from getting married?”_

_“Indeed I did,”_ came Lucius’ voice, sounding defensive. _“He can’t marry the Granger girl.”_

_“And why not, pray tell?”_

_“Because—”_ a pause, presumably while Lucius tried to think of a less offensive answer. _“Because she doesn’t know our ways. She’s not old blood.”_

_“Ludicrous! Hermione is more than capable of learning all the ancient traditions, and choosing which ones she wants to be a part of! And Merlin knows the old lines could do with new blood! Future generations cannot keep marrying amongst themselves, it’s not sustainable!”_

_“But, ‘Cissy,—”_ Lucius was sounding positively sulky now, and Draco sniggered to himself as he pictured the expression his father was likely wearing.

_“Don’t ‘but Cissy’ me! I want to see my son happy! If he wants to marry Hermione, then he will, and you will not_ _interfere or cause them any grief! Besides—”_ Draco heard his mother sniff, and imagined that she would be looking down her nose at him right about now. _“Hermione has agreed to let me help plan the wedding. I’ve been dreaming of this since Draco was just a baby, and you will_ ** _not_** _take that away from me.”_

Silence fell.

“Has she hexed his mouth shut?” Hermione whispered. “He’s not making a sound; she must have!”

“No, she’ll be staring him down,” Draco whispered back. “And he’ll be pouting like a naughty child who has just lost all his privileges.” 

Finally, they heard a muttered noise coming from the study, quite unintelligible. 

_“What was that, Lucius?”_ Narcissa said sweetly. _“Regrettably, I didn’t quite catch your answer.”_

_“I won’t interfere or cause them any grief,”_ Lucius said, sounding extremely put out.

_“Thank you, darling,”_ Narcissa said, sounding triumphant. _“Now, would you like tea?”_

_“Yes, tea would be nice, thank you,”_ came the grudging reply.

_“I’ll have the elves bring it right away.”_

Draco quickly pulled Hermione away from the corridor before his mother could catch them eavesdropping, though he knew she wouldn’t really mind. They hurried back to the conservatory and resumed their seats, attempting to appear unaffected and relaxed.

A minute later, Narcissa returned, looking like the kneazle that had got the cream. “How did he take it?” Hermione inquired innocently. “I do hope this didn’t cause too much conflict between you.”

“Don’t worry about Lucius,” she replied, flipping a hand dismissively. “I was able to bring him around.”

“I’m sure you were, mother,” Draco said with a smirk. “You have a knack for convincing him to see things your way.”

“Indeed I do,” Narcissa replied. She picked up the teapot. “More tea?”

She refreshed their cups, and they drank.


End file.
